


Who Whispers In Their Ears At Night?

by xdandelionxbloomx



Series: Tired Symphony Verse [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier, Death, Hattori from the Witcher 3 gets introduced!!!!, M/M, Violence, Witcher 3 really bad state of Novigrad, heavy monster fighting, monster hunt, not main characters but random villagers and city goers, part 4 of the TSV, persecuting inhumans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx
Summary: “Just trust me.” Jaskier insisted as he hefted the thick pad up onto Pegasus’s back. The gelding shied away at first, but once the weight settled he heaved a huge sigh and stood still. His ears pinned back, but Jaskier could work with that. The horse might snap, but he wouldn’t actually land a bite unless he felt truly like he might get injured.“I find that hard to do when you do things like this.” Geralt muttered from behind the fence as he watched Jaskier work.“What? Brave things?” Jaskier teased, feeling rather optimistic about the proceedings so far. The horse had been warming up to all of them - albeit slowly. This was a leap, but one that Jaskier was prepared to take.+++Vignettes of life together - Jaskier rides Pegasus, an errand turns catastrophic, and Jaskier begins to put the pieces together.+++Fourth installment of the Tired Symphony Verse.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Tired Symphony Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597723
Comments: 19
Kudos: 263





	Who Whispers In Their Ears At Night?

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this part: Heavy themes of death, death persecution of nonhumans, heavy violence, Jaskier's nightmares, paranoia 
> 
> Sorry it's been so long, I've not been able to write - I've had a block in my mind because I've Really Been Going Through It. Thank you for having patience and if you're still here supporting me please know I am so, so, so fucking grateful. 
> 
> The next two parts that follow this (five and six) will actually be posted as one part together. It'll probably take me a while, but I think I'm finally back on the writing horse, so-- hey!! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this part.

“Tell me, Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier stepped up behind the witcher where he sat musing in front of the fire. The bard slipped his arms around the not-quite-man’s neck, leaning his chest against his shoulders and pressing his nose to grey hair. “What are you thinking about?” 

Geralt hummed a sound from deep in his chest, remaining still. Whatever it was truly bothered him, then. Jaskier breathed out a sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of the witcher’s head before he circled around to sit down beside him. 

The full moon hung in the sky over them, helping illuminate the night. 

“Swords.” Geralt eventually murmured, leaning his shoulder against Jaskier’s. The bard soaked in the warmth - winter was slumping slowly towards its end, but it was stubborn. Bits of snow had refused to melt - piles that Zofia and Ciri were currently taking advantage of to have a snowball fight with. 

“Swords?” Jaskier couldn’t help the tease - it was too easy. He smirked, tipping his head over to bump his chin against Geralt’s shoulder. “Actual metal swords?” 

Geralt snorted, pressing his brief smile to the crown of Jaskier’s head before turning his attention back on the flames. “Actual metal swords.” He confirmed, and then added with pinched brows - “Silver ones. Steel, too, but silver most importantly.” He glanced towards Zofia when she squealed as a snowball hit her. 

“Alright.” Jaskier prodded, lifting his brows. 

“A sword like mine is too heavy for them to wield consistently in battle.” The witcher murmured, and slid an arm around Jaskier’s waist. “I need to pay someone I know a visit.” 

Jaskier pursed his lips - 

“Why do I have a feeling that… that’s bad…?”

Geralt breathed out a sigh through his nose. “Because they’re in Novigrad.” Jaskier immediately grimaced. They hadn’t journeyed out in a while, but they’d heard rumors of war and Eskel had… said some things after his last contract. 

Jaskier did not like thinking about them. 

“Are you sure they’d still be there?” Jaskier thought it was a fair question - after what he’d heard, he cannot imagine many people _would_ stay in the city. 

“No.” Geralt answered, honestly, “But we need to check. He’s the best swordsmith I’ve ever met and we need specially made ones - ones I’m not sure any other would be able to create.” He rubbed at Jaskier’s side and squeezed his hip lightly. 

Jaskier weighed the answer - it wasn’t as if he’d let Geralt go alone, but the thought of risking entry to a city that was ravaged by war wasn’t exactly his favorite. 

Novigrad had a terrible crime underbelly _without_ the presence of war. He couldn’t imagine how the city would look now, not with death lingering in the air. 

And what Eskel had said-- 

“We’ll go after winter.” Jaskier finally settled on. “The beginning of spring - when the world has thawed out at least a little. I don’t want to be fighting frostbite _and_ enemy soldiers.” He muttered the words against Geralt’s shoulder. He rested there a moment before hoisting himself up. 

“Plus, I think we ought to work with the swords a little more before I attempt to follow you into war-torn country, don’t you think?” Jaskier said and a smile tugs at his lips though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Jaskier often felt like he was walking on a beam, trying to keep his balance above a yawning void - something he wouldn’t be able to crawl out of if he fell. Sometimes he wobbled and the only thing that kept him upright was the pull of a hand - Ciri or Zofia or Geralt right there with him. 

Hope was a fragile thing, like a butterfly cupped in his hands - if he touched the wings even just a little too hard it would be ruined, doomed-- 

Jaskier couldn’t afford to think about such things lest he run himself into the ground before they even began to take a step outside of this little haven they had made of Kaer Morhen. 

+++

“Just trust me.” Jaskier insisted as he hefted the thick pad up onto Pegasus’s back. The gelding shied away at first, but once the weight settled he heaved a huge sigh and stood still. His ears pinned back, but Jaskier could work with that. The horse might snap, but he wouldn’t actually land a bite unless he felt truly like he might get injured. 

“I find that hard to do when you do things like _this_.” Geralt muttered from behind the fence as he watched Jaskier work. 

“What? Brave things?” Jaskier teased, feeling rather optimistic about the proceedings so far. The horse had been warming up to all of them - albeit slowly. This was a leap, but one that Jaskier was prepared to take. 

Pegasus was the only horse he’d want to ride consistently if he were to have a mount all his own - not that he didn’t find the grey mare agreeable, it was only just that he knew Pegasus had fight in him and in the world they were going into he wanted that on his side far more than he wanted a trained follower. 

Jaskier reached for the girth that kept the thick riding pad on the gelding’s back and the horse tossed his head, snapping at Jaskier’s side. The bard froze for a moment, breath catching in the back of his throat - he could practically _feel_ Geralt’s worry in the air. He had gotten significantly better at judging his silences than he used to - but it had been a while that they had been together now. 

Geralt was getting better at judging Jaskier’s words - how much he said and what hid beneath them. Jaskier wasn’t always comfortable with that, but Geralt _knew_ him and that was more than many could say. 

“Stupid.” Geralt growled and Jaskier couldn’t even find it within himself to prickle at the tone of voice. He rolled his shoulders in a slow shrug that was more hunching his shoulders. Pegasus snorted, but nudged him with his nose before turning his head away and leaving Jaskier to it. 

He breathed out shakily and carefully buckled the girth - his movements as slow as he could possibly make them. 

“I think I’ll have to disagree with you there - isn’t bravery just doing the damn thing even when you’re terrified?” Jaskier muttered, without taking his eyes off of Pegasus. Geralt grunted behind him, but didn’t grace the question with an answer. Jaskier couldn’t tell if it was because Geralt was worried or because he’d actually made a good point. 

As it was, he checked how secure the riding pad was before stepping back and glancing Pegasus over. 

“Honestly, I think a bridle might be pushing it right now.” Jaskier admitted, and then glanced back at Geralt who met his eyes levelly although it was with that worried wrinkle between his furrowed brows. 

“Jaskier…” The witcher started, slowly, pursing his lips. 

There was a moment of pause, the gelding lazily flicking his tail. 

“Look, we’ll never know if I don’t try.” Jaskier said, and then turned to the horse. He hooked a hand in the loop at the front of the riding pad, intended to help the rider up. He checked that the girth was tight enough before he hauled himself up onto the gelding’s back. 

Immediately the horse had two hooves off the ground, kicking up his back legs as Jaskier’s free hand scrabbled to hook into the long white mane. 

“ _Shit_ \--” Choked and breathless as Pegasus bucked, taking off into a run and throwing his whole body into getting Jaskier off. 

Geralt gritted his teeth, leaning up against the fence, though Jaskier couldn’t really get more than a few glimpses of him, too busy focusing on not being thrown to the ground. 

Jaskier was going to be bruised, he could feel it, not to mention how his hand was aching from where it desperately stayed twisted around the handle on the riding pad. He nearly slipped off when the gelding bucked on a dime, turning nearly midair as he tried to dislodge Jaskier. 

He barely managed to hang on and by the time the bucks turned into hops, Jaskier was _exhausted_. 

“See?” Jaskier managed to call, his voice hiccuping out of his chest as Pegasus hopped again. He shook his head, panting. 

“You are…” Geralt’s voice trailed off and Jaskier could imagine the head shake that followed. He didn’t need to turn his head to understand that. 

Jaskier grinned, nearly biting his tongue, though it only took two more good hops before Pegasus tired himself out, turning to a slow loose trot around the small pen instead. 

“It’s fine.” A bit breathless, but steadier as the two of them made laps around the pen. “It’s fine, see? Just needed to get his energy out. Needed to understand I’m gonna stick around whether he likes it or not. Not gonna hurt him.” Jaskier risked untangling a hand to wave slightly in the air, emphasizing his points - he’d always had a problem with talking with his hands. 

“Hm.” Geralt muttered and Jaskier huffed a couple of breaths in - when he glanced over at him, his eyes gentle. 

It took nearly ten minutes for the gelding to tire himself out to a plod, but Jaskier petted his neck with his free hand, scratching at a spot he knew the horse liked. 

Pegasus’s ears kept twitching back, listening to Jaskier ramble praises or thanks depending on the moment. 

Eventually they came to a stop and Jaskier kept petting over the horse’s neck, just calming him, staying a steady presence on his back. They stood like that for a while, Jaskier glancing over at Geralt as the witcher made his way into the pen, approaching the gelding slowly. 

He reached out, running sword-calloused fingers over Pegasus’s neck, fingers bumping against Jaskier’s as he glanced up at him with that fond look. 

“You’re stupid.” Geralt informed, but his voice was gentle, soft, rumbling up from the very back of his throat, maybe even deeper in his chest. Jaskier laughed brightly. 

“Maybe, but you love me.” 

“I do.” Geralt answered, simply, and then stepped slightly to the side, extending his arms. 

Jaskier gave him a grateful look, sliding off of the gelding onto wobbly legs. He stumbled right into Geralt’s arms, the witcher keeping him upright as he struggled to steady himself on what felt like a newborn fawn’s knees. 

Jaskier puffed a couple of breaths, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s shoulder, hands gripping at his armor. Finally he managed to get his legs under him properly, pushing away from the witcher gently to turn to the gelding, reaching out to carefully loosen the girth, pulling the bareback pad off with shaky arms. 

Pegasus grunted, craning his head around to peer at the two of them, but it was obvious he’d tired himself out, waiting a few moments before he began to plod away, putting some space between himself and Jaskier. 

Jaskier leaned his weight up against Geralt, humming a pleased noise in the back of his throat. 

“I think I can get him ready before we have to travel, don’t you?” Jaskier turned his head to look at the witcher, only to find him already watching Jaskier. 

Geralt tipped his head before nuzzling at Jaskier’s temple - “I’m fairly certain you could do anything you put your mind to at this point, Jaskier.” He murmured and Jaskier’s heart ached. 

Oh, how he wished he could. 

He nearly dropped the bareback pad and that’s when Geralt took it from him, ushering him towards the barn with a gentle nudge of his elbow. 

+++

Zofia disarmed Geralt on a crisp morning as spring crept up slowly into Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier had been watching the training, too sleepy to really try to fight - 

Nightmares plagued his sleep, haunted him often. Always six arrows. Who it was depended on the night, but it was always six arrows, buried deep in a chest, blood seeping into the ground beneath them. 

Jaskier throat raw, screaming, a name, always a name-- 

Jaskier sipped at the tea that Geralt had Vesemir make, fingers cupping what was more a bowl than a tankard, soaking in the warmth, wrapped in Geralt’s traveling cloak. 

Zofia shouted with her swing and Geralt’s sword went flying - Jaskier sat up immediately, alert as he watched with wide eyes. The girl had the point of her training sword at Geralt’s neck in seconds, the witcher looking a bit startled, staring her down as she panted, slowly lifting his hands in surrender. 

And then Ciri broke the startled quiet with a cheer, running over to hug Zofia and suddenly they were children again, not fighters, bouncing slightly on their heels as they celebrated, Geralt’s whole being softening at the edges. 

Jaskier _ached_. 

If he could stop it all, he would. 

There were days where he thought he would give himself up, would throw himself upon a sword if he could stop what was coming, could let them be little girls and not soldiers, little girls and not witchers - 

“Your turn, Ciri.” Geralt rumbled, picking his sword up from where it had fallen to the ground. 

She pulled away from Zofia reluctantly, squeezing her arms one last time before going to collect her own training sword. 

Geralt disarmed her quickly and Jaskier stood, the back of his neck prickling. Fundamentally he knew that there was something terribly amiss, something beyond his thoughts, scratching at the edges of his mind. 

He didn’t understand, but he couldn’t stand to watch, not at that moment, and one hand cupped the tea while the other held the cloak shut around him, turning to walk back inside the ruins that had become more home than he ever thought they could. 

They had chased out the old ghosts - the old memories - replaced them with something better. 

And yet, something that had not happened - something that might not happen - haunted him. Chased him through the halls as he wandered, aimlessly - he just had to move - and somehow he stumbled into the library. 

Vesemir looked up from the book he was reading, lifting a brow at the bard before humming a deep sound. 

“Jaskier.” He acknowledged, voice tumbling up out of his throat. 

“Vesemir.” Jaskier’s voice sounded wrong even to his own ears, small, and he wrinkled his nose, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” It came out a little stronger than before and he turned with the intent to leave. 

“Come sit.” Vesemir said, and Jaskier hesitated. 

He could go. 

He should, really, because he had a terrible feeling that Vesemir might get out of him what he was thinking about - he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it with Geralt, had a sneaking suspicion that it was more than a dream, that he’d - 

Jaskier turned on his heel and wandered over to where Vesemir sat at the table, perching himself on the edge of a seat, ready to flee at any moment. 

“Relax, bard.” Vesemir murmured, and looked back down to his reading. He fooled no one, though, and Jaskier knew he wasn’t really absorbing what he was looking at. 

“You say that like it’s easy.” Jaskier snorted softly, setting his tea down on the table and wrapping both hands into Geralt’s traveling cloak. He pressed his lips together into a thin line, eyes settled on the table in front of him. 

“It used to be.” Vesemir pointed out and turned to look at him. 

Jaskier felt pinned under the stare. Felt small. 

He sighed heavily, finally lifting his gaze from the table to meet Vesemir’s. 

“What’s wrong, boy?” Vesemir asked and it was too kind, too much - 

Jaskier bit his tongue to keep from weeping, hands clenched into fists tight enough that his knuckles had gone white on the cloak. 

“It’s stupid.” Jaskier rasped - “I know everyone here has nightmares.” 

“But?” Vesemir prompted when Jaskier fell quiet. 

“There’s something that is always the same in every one.” Jaskier started and it was like the floodgates had opened - “Someone always dies, which really, isn’t a surprise. It’s not. But it’s six arrows. To the chest. Always. Without fail. And I have a terrible feeling, Vesemir - I know that war is creeping up on us, I know that, but this feels-- Something is _wrong_.” Jaskier searched the witcher’s yellow eyes, noted the furrow to his brow. 

Vesemir stayed quiet for a moment, finally closing the book in front of him. 

Something felt like it came to a close when the pages thudded together.

+++

“Come on.” Jaskier smiled, despite the weight on his shoulders. “Just a short one. I’m sure Pegasus won’t buck. We’ve been working through it - we have an understanding.” Jaskier leaned towards the horse’s neck and patted beside the reins. “Don’t we, boy?” He murmured and the gelding tosses his head a little, chewing at the bit. 

He was still getting used to tack, but they’d made so much progress from the bareback pad that Jaskier couldn’t fault him for acting up now and then. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, walking beside him on Roach. 

They’d been taking longer trail rides, preparing themselves for travel once more. 

“You’ll lose.” Geralt said, finally, not looking at him despite the slight smile that was tugging at his reluctant lips. He couldn’t fool Jaskier, though, he knew that he wanted to grin. Geralt had a hard time turning down racing challenges and Gwent - his weaknesses, really. 

“You’re sure about that?” Jaskier asked, sitting back up, narrowing his eyes at Geralt. 

His heels tapped Pegasus’s sides, encouraging the gelding into a trot and then a slow canter - 

Only a moment later Roach tore past them, a wide open gallop as Geralt let out a shout, a grin showing off his teeth. Jaskier laughed, sending Pegasus after her. 

Both horses were competitive and pushed each other, Pegasus pulling ahead a few steps - Roach would catch up a moment later, working twice as hard and still pulling ahead. 

An upcoming log seemed like a good place to end the impromptu race and with an unspoken agreement, they both started to tug lightly at the reins, slowing their horses. 

Roach dropped back immediately, but Pegasus seemed to grab a second wind, strides lengthening, Jaskier gripping tightly - 

“Hey, come on!” He called over the wind, but Pegasus had his mind elsewhere. He reached the log and rather than turn or slow, Jaskier found himself clinging to the horse as he _soared_ over the log. 

Jaskier felt breathless for a moment, weightless, and when they hit the ground again he was jostled, hurrying to adjust himself as the gelding took a moment longer to slow, rearing slightly before coming to a total stop, dancing slightly in place as his sides heaved. 

“Show off.” Jaskier managed, eyes wide, a little shaken, but-- 

Well, he had to admit to being impressed. He turned the horse, urging him in a light trot back the way they came, picking their way through the trees of the path and around the log, huffing a laugh at the worried look Geralt gave him. 

“We’re fine. I think he-- wanted to impress Roach.” Jaskier managed, huffing. 

Geralt snorted, but he relaxed into his saddle, a hand patting at Roach’s neck. She tossed her head, utterly indifferent to the whole situation. 

Pegasus struggled to catch his breath and still pawed at the ground, as if to say _see that?_

“Does that mean we win?” Jaskier teased, grinning, as Geralt rolled his eyes and turned Roach back to the path, intending to lead them home. 

“Not by technicality.” Geralt murmured, lips tugging back towards that crooked grin. 

“By technicality?” Jaskier squawked, Pegasus trotting ahead a bit.

+++

The wildflowers started showing their faces a few weeks later. 

Jaskier picked a couple, slipped them into Geralt’s braid when he wasn’t looking. The rest of the witchers smiled despite the way they tried to hide it - Geralt wouldn’t know until that night when they retired to their room. 

“Do you have to go?” Ciri asked him at dinner, watching Zofia where she sat beside Lambert listening to one of his stories about a hunt. She was so different - had grown so much. A force to be reckoned with. Jaskier watched her as well. 

“We do. We’ll return before you’ll even really miss us. It shouldn’t take very long. A few weeks, I believe. You need a break from my chatter.” Jaskier said, and laughed although it didn’t hold the usual spark he could drag into it. 

Ciri frowned, turning her head to look at him. 

Jaskier was reminded that she was far beyond her years under that gaze. There were days where he feared they both looked right through him, but now his very heart trembled behind the fragile cage of his ribs. 

“I will always miss you.” She said and it sounded puzzled in some way, as if she thought him odd for thinking anything else. 

His skin prickled and he grit his teeth against the strange shudder that threatened him, Vesemir’s expression burned into his mind. 

Jaskier took a deep breath and forced a smile. 

“Hm. Tell me that when I return and perhaps I’ll believe you, darling thing. I think you’ll find yourself eating your words for the first few days. Believe me, it’ll be a relief.” It was teasing and Jaskier stood, ruffling her hair, ignoring her offended noise and picking his way over to where Lambert was gesturing wildly. 

“I’m sure he was lying to you. It was probably only this big.” Jaskier interrupted, placing his hands far enough apart that perhaps a rabbit could fit between them. 

Lambert sent him a sour look but Zofia snorted, reaching for Jaskier’s hands and tugging him in close, trying to wrestle him into a headlock. 

Jaskier laughed, twisting in her grasp and knocking her into Lambert, who grabbed the back of her tunic and dragged _her_ into one instead. 

“Release the bardling. He’s not worth the trouble. Bit like wrestling a toddler.” Lambert shot him a grin and Jaskier shoved at him, the witcher releasing Zofia. The girl huffed, shaking herself out, some of the hair that she’d bundled back into a bun falling loose. 

Jaskier snorted, but reached out to tuck it behind her ear. 

Zofia’s smile faded. 

“You’re going on your trip.” She stated rather than asked. 

Jaskier hummed in the back of his throat, swallowing thickly. “It’ll only be a few weeks.” He assured and kicked a leg out, tapping Lambert’s boot with his own. “This bastard’ll keep you laughing, I’m sure. You won’t even notice I’m gone.” 

Zofia frowned then. 

She stood and walked over to him, reaching her arms up to pull him into a hug. She didn’t speak. 

In some ways, it was almost even worse. 

Jaskier blinked, before wrapping her in a hug as well, closing his eyes and fighting back the stinging in his eyes. 

“Just a few weeks.” Jaskier felt compelled to promise. Zofia squeezed him firmly - she’d grown so strong from training. It made his breath leave his chest briefly and he pulled back to shove Lambert again as he stepped away, heading for his and Geralt’s room, hiding the wetness in his eyes and the weak, half-grin on his lips. 

“If you get hurt, I’ll come kick your ass myself!” Zofia called after him and Ciri shouted an agreement, Jaskier lifting a hand to wave them off as he ducked into the hall. 

+++

The sun was only just breaking over the horizon when they left Kaer Morhen. 

The rest of the keep was still soundly asleep save for Vesemir, who saw them off from the gate. Jaskier glanced back once to see him watch them go, and his stomach twisted. 

He looked away, couldn’t bring himself to see the expression the older witcher wore. 

In some ways, Jaskier could already see it - 

“We’ll camp outside of Novigrad.” Geralt said, voice low, and they’d talked about this already. Jaskier thought that maybe he was making himself go over it so that he didn’t turn back - Jaskier could see the tenseness of his shoulders from where he rode Pegasus, the way Geralt’s brows furrowed, the way he refused to look back. 

Jaskier wanted to reach out, but his own mind was so wild that he couldn’t focus on anything except keeping Pegasus calm as they started to descend the mountain. 

“Jaskier.”

The rough voice came and Jaskier blinked out of his thoughts, surprised to find the sun at midday position already, turning his head to look over at Geralt, lips parted slightly in surprise. 

“Are you alright?” Genuine concern from the witcher as he looked over at the bard, head tipped slightly to the side. 

His hair looked golden in the sun and Jaskier felt something in his chest unclench if just for a moment - this reminded him of simpler times, before Destiny had shouldered her way into their life.

Jaskier hummed a soft sound from his throat. 

“Sorry. Got lost.” The bard said, before he pat Pegasus’s neck - they hadn’t quite mastered Jaskier being able to ride and play the lute yet, but he’d get there. For now he started humming a far jauntier tune than what he really felt like. 

“Oh, how about this one, Geralt?” And Jaskier cleared his voice before launching into a song - pushed all the darker things away to focus on the sunshine, on the presence of his witcher beside him, on another adventure sprawling before them. 

They’d braved terrible things before - there was no reason that Jaskier couldn’t face this one, in this moment, with as much enthusiasm as he had before. 

The terrible things were still down the winding road - he didn’t need to make the time until that moment unbearable. 

Geralt’s shoulders relaxed - only a little. 

Jaskier had a feeling that he probably still didn’t smell quite right - sadness and worry had been clinging to him like an ill-fitting coat for the past few weeks. 

Geralt didn’t quiet him, though, let it go and by the third tune the witcher had relaxed enough that Jaskier knew that he was no longer focused on his worry. 

Jaskier was tired. He was torn. 

But they were things for him to deal with - he’d had enough of burdening others. 

+++

Jaskier felt like the world wasn’t real. 

It was hard to describe how it felt other than that - even the sky seemed dimmed, grey and empty over the barren fields. Entire villages that Jaskier remembered bustling with life only a decade before were abandoned as they passed through. 

If he spotted a corpse or two, he absolutely did not imagine who it could have been - 

_(The barkeep’s daughter always kept her hair in a long braid with a ribbon threaded through it, the young man who had been incredibly skilled in engraving had always worn a thick silver ring on his right hand, the alderman had a cane that he’d carried always-)_

He _didn’t_ think about it.

He didn’t _think_ about it. 

He surely didn’t think about it as they approached the city, looking up at the sight of stakes, the sight of burned and broken bodies tied to them. 

It was only through years of following a witcher that Jaskier didn’t immediately end up hurling. 

And worse - 

Worse - 

Jaskier could see, even from his perch on Pegasus, that some of those bodies had pointed ears, that some of those bodies had witch hunting cuffs on them - 

It made his chest tight, looking at Geralt with wide eyes, hands white knuckle on his reins. The witcher was gritting his teeth - Jaskier could see his jaw working. 

A guard looked up at them, narrowing his eyes, but they passed through the gates into Novigrad with little hassle. 

Jaskier had to imagine that it was because no matter how inhuman Geralt was, people would rather have Geralt hunt the things that they themselves were afraid of - 

A familiar anger settled deep in his belly, simmering just below the fear that had twisted it into knots. He gripped the reins tightly, guiding Pegasus through the streets. 

They weren’t empty, but certainly far less busy for the epicenter of activity that Novigrad tended to be. It was beyond unsettling, a few clusters of soldiers scattered to the sides, assessing the citizens with critical gazes. 

They passed one of the notice boards and found it devoid of slips of paper - only one large sheet of parchment took up most of the space, proclaiming that - _“Should any citizen witness suspicious activity related to magical interference it is required to be reported. Should you fail to adhere to this decree you will also be persecuted alongside the accused. There will be no mercy. This is for the safety of the city and her citizens. We wish you a good day.”_

Jaskier felt sick. 

A glance at Geralt confirmed that the witcher wasn’t feeling much better - although Jaskier saw something close to _rage_ flickering in those golden eyes. 

“Come on.” Geralt rumbled - and it was boots against gravel, old wagon wheels, a rockslide-- 

Jaskier pressed his lips together, followed him towards the edge of the city, closer to the docks, closer to the sea. 

When the streets narrowed, when they had to start weaving through the buildings, Geralt dismounted Roach first. Jaskier followed his lead, guiding Pegasus after Geralt, making sure he kept a hand petting lightly at his neck, trying to distract him from those that _did_ wander the streets. 

“Geralt?” 

The voice was surprised, but even Jaskier could hear the exhaustion that weighed it down. When he caught a glimpse of the owner, his chest clenched. 

The elf was pale, thin, and there was a sheen of sweat along his brow despite the slightest chill in the evening air. Geralt stepped forward, extending his hand - the elf immediately grasped his forearm in greeting. 

“Hattori.” The witcher murmured, and then stepped slightly to the side, unclasping their hands. 

The elf smiled at Geralt, even if it was small. He looked past him to settle his gaze on where Jaskier stood with Pegasus. He tipped his head and gestured a little for Geralt to introduce them. 

“Jaskier.” He murmured, introducing himself and giving his own tiny smile in response. He nodded towards the forge behind the elf. 

“We’ve come for a commission.” Geralt rumbled, before Jaskier could speak, shooting the bard a small look - one that told Jaskier that Geralt wanted him to be quiet for just a moment. 

Jaskier allowed it, turning his gaze instead to the street. 

He scanned the square absently, aware of Geralt speaking to Hattori, only absorbing about half of what they spoke about. 

Jaskier’s gaze had caught on a pair of young women across the square - the two of them dressed very similar. Pale with dark hair, long curls falling loose over their shoulders. Both were gesturing wildly, one with her hands clasped in front of her, the other flinging an arm out while her free hand held a shawl closed around her shoulders. Jaskier couldn’t hear them from where he stood, but he could see the tears begin to spill over and he breathed out a sigh. 

“Geralt.” Quiet, getting the witcher’s attention. It interrupted their conversation, but both the elf and the witcher turned to look, the tone catching their focus.

Hattori’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

“They’ve been asking for help for a few days.” The elf murmured, voice low, between them. “You see their ears? Whatever they are, the guards believe they are half elf. They won’t lift a hand to help anyone non-human in this city.” He murmured, and then added - “I’m lucky that I’ve been useful enough to keep food on a table.” 

Geralt rumbled a low noise. 

“When did this happen?” He asked and Jaskier turned his attention from the young women to the elf, frowning slightly. He remembered Novigrad as bustling, as buzzing with the air full of chatter - voices both pleased and angry intermingling. 

“Maybe a couple of months ago.” Hattori answered, voice low, head dipping a bit and keeping his gaze carefully away from the guards. “It started slow, little things that began to add up. Limiting what sort of magic might be used after some… murders. And then it became only emergency things like healing. Now any sort at all is forbidden - and should they catch you doing any…” He swallowed thickly - “I’m sure you saw on the way in.” 

Jaskier grimaced and tried to settle his stomach. 

“Hm.” The sound Geralt let out was practically a growl, only just below a snarl. The hair on the back of Jaskier’s neck stood up and he took a deep breath, giving a slight nod. 

“We should--” 

“Yes.” Geralt agreed, and then reached out, clasping Hattori’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Take care of yourself. We will be back - and we’ll figure something out.” Geralt gave him a meaningful look before turning away to lead Roach past Jaskier. 

Jaskier trailed after - followed as he always did. 

+++

They caught up to the two young women two streets over and Jaskier stepped forward to speak first, trying to ease their presence instead of a witcher stepping forward after following them. Geralt would never harm someone innocent if he could help it, but unfortunately most didn’t know him the way people close to the witcher did. 

“Excuse me, fair ladies.” Jaskier chirped it and they turned to look at him at the exact same time. The hair on the back of his neck stood up again and his breath caught - something wasn’t _right_ \-- 

And then one of them glanced at Geralt and her face went slack with relief. “Oh, master witcher.” She breathed and the worry rolled off of Jaskier’s shoulders like water off of a water fowl. 

They were just girls. 

Wide, dark eyes, managing shaky smiles. 

“We saw you talking to the guard.” Geralt rumbled from beside him. 

“Master witcher,” The second girl began, then, in a voice eerily similar to the first. Twins, Jaskier determined then. “We haven’t got much in the way of coin, but--” 

“If you’d lend us your services, we’ll repay you in another way. We shall find _something_.” 

Jaskier didn’t like the tone. Something about it made his skin prickle, but not in jealousy, not in the way it had around Yennefer. 

Again, that _wrong_ feeling haunted him. 

Jaskier pushed it down, despite a sidelong glance he gave Geralt. He didn’t look alarmed, or uncomfortable. Not a monster that he should be worried about, then, surely. Geralt would have indicated at least a little that Jaskier should look out for himself. 

Things were _fine_. 

So Jaskier turned his attention back to the girls with a soft hum. 

“What’s happened?” He asked, quietly, a hand brushing over Pegasus’s neck. He kept pawing at the ground and his ears had pinned back making Jaskier a bit nervous _for_ the girls. He was just unused to new people, surely. 

“Our parents.” They said at the same time and then met each other’s gazes. They agreed on something silently - Jaskier could see it in their eyes - and then the one who had spoken first continued. 

“My name is Alina and this is Sybil. Our parents went missing almost a fortnight ago. We’ve been trying to search for them, but--”

“No one will help us.” Sybil finished, her voice trembling slightly. Jaskier’s caution melted entirely once more and he let out a slow breath. 

“Come. We should find a place to speak away from the eyes of the guards.” Geralt rumbled, voice quiet, gaze scanning the streets. 

+++

Their home was small. 

It laid just on the edge of the city, a small one room hut that had obvious signs of being well-lived in. 

Someone in the family was an artist, too, pages from tattered books with ink drawings over the words scattered about the home. 

A few featured what looked like bats, but they were rather childlike. 

Geralt pursed his lips, but didn’t look that disturbed, so Jaskier settled himself down at the table pushed to the corner, the young women seating themselves as well. Geralt chose to stay standing as they began to explain what they could. 

Something was nagging at Jaskier, burrowing at the base of his skull, something about their lilting voices. He kept glancing at Geralt - Geralt who had taken to now pacing around the house, taking in a few claw marks that Jaskier had missed when they initially walked in. He’d been too focused on the drawings, the general mess strewn about. 

The claw marks were deep, four in a row - a few by the doorways, a few on the walls. 

Jaskier’s gaze decidedly settled on Sybil. 

“And where were you?” The bard asked, suddenly, dragging his gaze over her beautiful face - in some ways it was unnatural, her beauty. The same way that some sorceresses and the occasional fae set off his alarms, her - and her sister’s - presence made that sense of just-this-side-of-unnatural blanket over his shoulders. 

“Asleep.” Alina answered, and Jaskier frowned. 

“With all of that going on?” He asked, gesturing towards the walls. There was a flicker of-- _something_ in Sybil’s expression, but it didn’t linger long enough for him to identify it. 

“We cannot tell you what happened while we slumbered, only that we woke and our parents were _gone_.” Sybil’s voice broke, but Jaskier’s lips thinned. 

A crawling feeling up his spine - like the ants that had stowed away in his doublet when he’d forgotten Roach’s sugar cubes. It was supremely uncomfortable and he wanted nothing more than to put distance between himself and what was causing it. 

“Jaskier, let them speak.” Geralt said and Jaskier turned his attention on the witcher, wondering why he hadn’t _figured it out_ yet. 

Nonetheless, he let them talk. 

+++

They left the small home towards evening. 

Jaskier felt off-balance. 

They spoke and appeared human, but something was so vastly eerie about their presence that he couldn’t shake. 

Geralt walked beside him in silence towards a building that Jaskier was fairly certain was an inn. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Geralt long enough to truly pay attention, though. 

“Geralt.” He started, quietly, his voice low and near hesitant. 

“Jaskier.” The witcher answered, and turned his head briefly to take in Jaskier’s expression. He looked away with furrowed brows. 

“Something’s not right.” Jaskier said, finally, “About those girls.” 

“The medallion didn’t hum.” Geralt answered him. “They’ve been through something traumatic. They may not be willing to divulge all the information they have due to fear.” He said, slowly, and added, “They did not seem to be lying. Their voices seemed genuine. And the scratches on the walls--” 

Jaskier looked away from him, deciding in that moment that apparently _he_ was the one who needed to keep an eye out this time. “Still.” 

“I’m hesitant to call it a wight, Jaskier, but it would make sense on the edge of the city.” He breathed out through his nose - “There’s a few abandoned huts further out, towards the cemeteries, that I want to look into tomorrow morning. They don’t like sunlight.” _So it’ll be safe for me_ , goes unsaid but Jaskier heard and appreciated it all the same. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier shook his head. 

“Let me look there. If I find nothing, then I will ask the girls for more information.” The witcher turned them towards the stables, and Jaskier followed, worry twisting his stomach uncomfortably. 

+++

Geralt kissed him awake just as the sunlight began to spill in through the inn windows. 

Jaskier was a bit disoriented - he’d startled awake from another nightmare towards midnight and it felt like the fear had never quite left him. He blinked at the witcher blearily, reaching a hand up to tangle in the front of Geralt’s armor, keeping him close. 

“Be careful.” He said, and sank as much feeling as he could into the words. Geralt’s eyes softened and he leaned in to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead gently. 

“I will.” Geralt murmured, and untangled himself from Jaskier with gentle fingers. “Won’t be too long, promise.” He set his hand back on the sheets carefully, thumb brushing over the back of Jaskier’s hand before he pulled himself away, turning to leave the room. 

Jaskier watched through a blurry gaze before he closed his eyes and let himself drift. 

When he came to, it was late afternoon. 

Concern prickled at Jaskier, but he didn’t let it consume him just yet. He puttered around their room for a bit first, checking their supplies and repacking their bags. 

He briefly considered going to see Hattori, but scrapped the thought. The elf was probably busy working on the quick turnaround on the swords and Jaskier doubted that it would soothe his anxiety at all. 

So in the end, he simply dressed himself and tucked his silver dagger into hsi boot. He made sure it was secure and then left their inn room. 

He wandered to the stables where he petted Pegasus, brushed his hand over his soft muzzle gently. He pressed a kiss to his forehead, murmuring in a low voice - 

“Do you feel it, too? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” Jaskier asked the gelding. He nickered, lowering his head and butting it against Jaskier’s chest gently. 

It was enough to urge Jaskier into motion, to step back to go retrieve his tack. 

+++

The evening sun had painted the world gold by the time Jaskier caught sight of the graveyards that littered the edges of Novigrad. 

He slowed Pegasus’s loose canter to a trot, turning him off the path, towards the trees. 

The light dappled the ground, peering through the leaves - moving with slight breezes. Any other time, it would have been beautiful. 

Jaskier might have raised his voice in song. 

But something was wrong. Something had been wrong since they’d _spoken_ to those girls. 

He should’ve pushed harder. 

(He should’ve told Geralt _no, you aren’t going alone. No, the very air felt vile_.)

(The foulness permeated - there was something more than war with Nilfgaard coming, it itched at the edges of his consciousness and he did not know how to put it into words.)

The first of the huts was empty, Jaskier didn’t even have to dismount to see that. 

It leaned dangerously to one side, the rotting wood threatening to give out at any moment. The door had long ago fallen in and the floor was overgrown with plants. 

An old chest lay inside, open, empty - looters must have taken whatever valuables had lingered after the death of the owner long, long ago. 

Jaskier continued into the forest. 

A bird chirped above him, flying from branch to branch. 

The hair on the back of his neck rose and he drew Pegasus to a walk - then a stop. His gaze scanned the trees, looking for the source that made his skin prickle. 

He found no eyes, but another bird joined the first, trilling a high note. 

And then - 

A whicker. 

Jaskier’s gaze snapped to the direction it came from, urging Pegasus into another canter, quicker than the first. 

They crested a hill and there, a flash of chestnut fur. 

_Roach_. 

Pegasus whinnied and a neigh answered, Roach tossing her head as she came into full view. 

Jaskier pulled Pegasus to a stop beside her - she was still geared up and Jaskier felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of Geralt’s steel sword tucked away in the bedroll that usually protected his silver sword. 

Whatever he’d seen, he’d decided to take the silver and _that_ didn’t bode well. 

Above them a crow croaked. 

Jaskier slipped off of Pegasus, stepped closer to Roach. She snorted, extending her neck, puffing a breath towards him. 

“I know, girl, I know.” He soothed, gently, moving a hand to pet over her cheek, searching her dark eyes. “It’s alright, I’m here now.” 

She snorted softly, one of her front hooves pawing at the ground lightly. 

“I won’t ever ask this of you again, but _please_ , girl. Please.” He murmured, and stepped to the side, a hand resting on her saddle. When she didn’t flinch away, he hauled himself up into it, settling down. 

Pegasus let out a low, disgruntled sound and Jaskier shot him a look. 

Roach shifted her weight below him and then, without warning, broke into a trot. Jaskier grunted and found his balance again, a hand reaching down to brush through her mane, heart in his throat. 

A songbird let loose a few notes that followed them into the deep of the forest. 

+++

The world was dark by the time they came to a stop. 

It was further out than he’d expected them to go and the noises of fluttering wings above them was unsettling. 

Although his eyes had adjusted to the slowly oncoming dark, he was still only human and only so much moonlight pierced through the thick foliage. 

The birds above chittered and sang and croaked until it was a cacophony of sound that had Roach’s ears pressed tightly back, Pegasus flinching back from every sway of a branch. 

Jaskier dismounted quietly, eyeing the broken down shack he could see in the distance. 

It was tucked behind an oak tree nearly as wide as Roach was long. 

He could see a candle burning through the window, and he kept close to the witcher’s mare, hands going to the bedroll. He took it from the saddle as quietly as he could, keeping his breathing as even as possible despite the way his heart was beginning to hammer in his chest. 

He took the steel sword into hand - it was heavy, but after training so often he could handle it easily enough for the moment. 

He’d grow tired after too long, though. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, turned to the shack, and kept low to the ground as he approached, doing his best to stay out of line of sight for the windows. 

Closer now, he could see the door to the shack hung open - cracked enough that he could catch a glimpse of the inside. 

The floor was spattered with a dark liquid that reflected the candlelight. 

Jaskier swallowed. 

He darted from behind the oak, ducking low to crouch outside the building, below the window. 

He held his breath - listened. 

Jaskier couldn’t hear anything over the birds. 

He crept closer to the door, reached the sword out to nudge the door open. 

Candlelight spilled out over the forest floor and immediately a bird _screamed_ . Its echo got lost in the sudden overwhelming sound of wings, the canopy suddenly clearing. The moon lit the forest clearly - what Jaskier had assumed was leaves blocking the way had been _bodies_ of birds, only a bit of dappling here and there from an odd leaf or two. 

Jaskier paused. 

The silence that followed was near suffocating, the candlelight flickering a moment from the wind kicked up - 

It came back stronger after a moment and Jaskier swallowed thickly, stepping forward to peer around the doorjamb, looking at the puddle of vicious looking liquid. 

Black. 

Monster ichor. 

Jaskier blew out a shaky breath, gripping the hilt of the sword firmly as he readied it, ducking into the shack and pressing his back to the wall. 

Inside he could see the destruction he hadn’t spotted from the outside. The walls were covered in scratches similar to those they’d seen at Sybil and Alina’s home. 

In the far right back corner, the ground gave way into a pit. 

There was no monster in the small building, but he couldn’t go down into that dark and be able to see. 

He lingered a moment, before he turned back. 

Roach had wandered closer to the shack when he emerged, her ears perked towards him, clearly more comfortable without the birds overhead. He briefly switched the sword to one hand, his free one petting lightly over her nose. 

“It’s okay.” He told her, softly, and could only hope that he was right. 

He stepped around to her saddlebags, digging around to find what he needed. Saltpeter - Geralt used it in his bombs. Sulfur, too, though Jaskier was _not_ making a Dancing Star bomb. 

Geralt had told him once that combining the two in smaller quantities could cause a raging fire and _that’s_ why they had to be kept so carefully apart in the saddlebags. Jaskier could only tentatively trust this didn’t backfire on him terribly. 

He paused, hesitating. 

And then his hand dipped back into the saddlebag, grabbing two more vials. 

White Rafford and Swallow. 

He stepped back with the items tucked into his pocket, going to the oak tree. One of the lower hanging branches looked thick enough and he swung the sword. It impacted the tree with a solid thunk and he knew Geralt would fuss at him later. 

(He _had_ to.) 

Jaskier cut down the branch, carrying it all back into the shack. He leaned the sword up against the wall, turning his attention instead to the items he had. 

He shrugged off his doublet, briefly mourning the beautiful fabric before he sliced off the sleeve. He crouched, laying it out on the floor. 

The next few minutes were spent sweating, doing his very best to combine the right amounts of the two, laying the branch and wrapping it like the torches he had seen before. 

He grabbed for one of the candles, then, and after taking a deep breath, he laid it against the torch and scrambled back. 

It caught fire, a white blaze that made him blink away the lights dancing behind his eyes, but there was no explosion. 

It would burn hard, though, and he hurried forward, grabbing it and snatching up the sword in his other hand. It was significantly harder this way - he may not be weak, but he didn’t have Geralt’s strength. 

A witcher’s strength. 

He stepped up to the edge of the pit, pointing the torch down into it. A steady slope into a tunnel, the monster ichor dragged down in smears. Down the tunnel something glinted. 

Jaskier froze. 

It didn’t move, though, and after a moment, Jaskier realized that it wasn’t a pair of eyes. 

Fear clogged his throat as he stepped onto the slope, sliding down the slope until he could walk. He had to bend slightly at the waist to walk the tunnel, the torch held in front of him. 

His breath caught when he got closer to the glinting - 

Silver _shone_ in the firelight. 

Jaskier clenched his jaw, adjusting his grip on the sword in his hand. In the end, he dropped the sword down and picked up the silver - lighter in hand. More natural, easier-- 

Jaskier’s shoulders set themselves and he followed the smears deeper. 

+++

Jaskier heard the creature before he saw it. 

Whatever it was was badly wounded. 

The noises gurgled up from a wounded chest - he had heard it before in a bandit that Geralt had run his steel sword through when he had attacked their camp. 

Jaskier rounded the bend and stilled at the sight before him. 

A limb right in front of him, pale and long, clawed. Talons. He let his eyes wander up from it towards the form further down the tunnel. 

It slumped over, sitting on the ground - it was missing a leg, presumably the limb in front of him. He breathed out shakily and it snapped its head towards him. 

A sunken face, black hair hanging over its eyes. The firelight made its eyes reflect a sickly green-yellow, thin lips peeling back in a snarl to reveal sharp teeth, bloody and drooling. 

_Too late, little bard._

It curled somewhere at the back of his mind, twisting, hissing - chills broke out over his skin and he only barely kept from panicking. Familiar. 

Familiar. 

The tone so familiar-- 

His breath caught. 

“Sybil.” He breathed, and the creature tossed its head back, lips pulled into a grotesque grin. 

_Your witcher should have listened to you._

She crowed it in his mind and Jaskier cannot _breathe_. 

“Where is he?” Jaskier hissed, tightening his grip on the silver sword. 

_Too late!_

Jaskier closed the distance between them, sword slicing off the clawed hand that reached for him clumsily. She screeched, the sound filling the tunnel, bouncing back and making his ears ring. 

“Where _is he_?” Jaskier repeated, the point of the sword held at her throat. The skin sizzled beneath the silver and she snarled, drooling, glaring at him defiantly. 

Wide, dark eyes. 

Nothing but their breathing. 

Jaskier pulled back the sword and drove it through her shoulder, twisting it. 

“Fucking _tell me_ , or I’ll make you _suffer_ until you take your last breath--” 

The bruxa - for that was what she was, something Geralt had never let him get close enough to see, told him was too dangerous, told him to _run far away_ from - reached up with another screech. Her talons on her remaining hand wrapped around the silver, the skin hissing, writhing weakly. 

A flash of a thought, not a full word, but it was _enough_. 

Jaskier drew the sword back - “He’s not dead.” 

_He will b-_

She didn’t get to finish the thought, the sword slicing through her neck. It toppled to the side, rolled down the tunnel. He didn’t linger - instead following the tunnel deeper. 

+++

The tunnel opened up suddenly. A pool of water at the far end of the cave glowed a soft blue and there was another tunnel opening that curved over the water, though it looked shallow enough to wade through. 

Jaskier stood straight up, hefting the torch high. 

Bloody handprints on the wall, black footprints-- 

Jaskier’s breath caught. 

But no witcher. 

He had been here, though. 

That was enough to give him hope. 

And then the sound of splashing water. His gaze snapped over to the pool, staring for a moment as the surface rippled, the glow more intense. 

Jaskier pressed his back to the wall. 

_Poisonous_. 

The whisper curled around his mind like Sybil’s had, though significantly stronger. Chills broke out over his skin once more and he readied himself. 

_You’re dangerous, little bard. An obstacle._

The water splashed again, and then something stepped on the sandy floor of the cave. The slightest bits of glow in the footprint. 

_You’ve no idea what you’re a part of. Something so small. The picture so big._

“What are you _talking_ about?” Jaskier rasped through the fear making his lungs tight. 

A second glowing footprint joined the first on the ground. 

_It was never about your witcher._

The voice _purred_. Shivers licked at his spine. 

_You. You’re the domino that refuses to fall. The game cannot be won without you toppling._

Another step, the glow faint now, nearly gone. He’d lose track of her soon. 

“What _game_?” Jaskier felt ice sweep through his veins. 

( _Zofia, lifeless, arrows clumped around her heart, bloodied. The sky raining fire and ice. Cold. So cold. Throat raw--_ )

Silence. 

“What game, Alina?” He asked, voice filled with an urgency he could not quite hide. 

She laughed and it sounded like death. 

_Who tells the soldiers where to go? Who to kill? Who whispers in their ears at night? Who, little bard, wants your darling girl’s gift?_

Jaskier breathed in sharply. 

_He is coming for her. And I am coming for you_. 

The last word is accompanied by a roar that shakes the cavern around them, making Jaskier flinch despite his best effort. The torch tumbled from his hand, hitting the sandy floor, both hands closing around the hilt of the sword as he swung blindly. 

He missed, but the sand flew up in a spray as the bruxa scuttled back, snarling. A brief flash of pale skin, and _there_ \-- 

Jaskier kept his back pressed to the cave wall, hurriedly sidestepping, following it around to the pool of water. 

The now visible bruxa stood tall and drooling, glaring at him, clawed hands flexing at her sides as she grumbled a low noise in her throat. She was not unscathed, a gash on her shoulder, but largely she was unaffected. 

He was only three steps from the pool when she disappeared before his eyes. He dove for the water, swinging his sword towards the splashing behind him. 

She roared in frustration and he scrambled to his feet, back to the exit of the cavern, standing under the arch of it, gaze on the water’s surface as he tried to even his breathing, heart a hummingbird flitting about in his chest. 

“I can do this all night.” He breathed, despite the ache in his arms. “See, you’ve made this about more than just me, now. You made a fatal error.” 

The bruxa laughed again, a step forward, the water rippling. He turned towards it, sword at the ready. 

_You’ll hurt yourself with that sword, little bard. Just accept it._

He bared his teeth in a grin - a snarl of his own. “Then try to come closer, love.” It was a clear taunt and the bruxa hissed, filling the space. 

The water rippled as she paced back and forth in front of him, clearly agitated, trying to decide her next move. 

Jaskier remained still. 

He could wait her out. 

_Your witcher will die if you take much longer._

Her whisper wrapped around his heart, squeezed it tight. He didn’t let go of the sword. He knew she was taunting as well. 

“He’s a tough bastard.” Jaskier said, simply, and she snarled. 

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. 

Silence, water still, and then she was flickering into existence once more. 

She clearly fought it and in a desperate attempt to keep her upper hand, she lunged at him. 

Jaskier’s training took over and he suddenly _understood_ what Geralt meant about the thick of battle making the rest of the world fade away. 

Step, step, swing, dodge, slice-- 

In a way, it was a dance. 

A claw caught his arm and he bled, but there was no time to even process it. 

He caught a leg, she traded him a blow to his shoulder. 

She flickered before him and he lunged forward before she could vanish entirely, taking a desperate measure. 

Her claws ripped through his side, but the sword pierced her throat. 

She stared at him, slack jawed, her limbs giving out slowly, kneeling and taking the sword with her. 

Jaskier met her eyes as he gathered the strength to tear the sword free. She fell back into the water and Jaskier, to make sure, swung at her neck again, sliced her head off. The black blotted out some of the glow and he panted, trembling. 

He pressed the sword to the ground, using it to lean on, his wounds making themselves loudly known. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, turning to look at the arch of the tunnel leading out of the cave. 

He glanced back at the torch. 

The glow from the water was enough to guide him, though, he was sure, and he didn’t think he could hold it aloft. 

So he turned, shuffling slowly through the water, using the sword to support him every few moments. 

+++

Jaskier caught a glimpse of silver light after what felt like _years_. 

He emerged into the outdoors, taking a deep, burning breath of fresh air. 

He stumbled out, taking to the shore - the still water opened out into what looked like a lake and he didn’t want to swim. He stood, catching his breath for a few minutes, letting his gaze sweep the lake shore. 

And then-- 

Then his heart stopped. 

He nearly dropped the sword, tightening his grip almost as an afterthought as he forced himself into a jog, stumbling a few times before he made it to the form slumped on the bank. 

He was out of breath, aching, but he fell to his knees beside the body - Geralt’s body - and pressed his hand to his chest. 

For a moment, he didn’t dare to breathe - 

The faintest beat of a heart. 

Tears spilled over and he laughed, hysteric as he dug out the two vials he had taken as extra measures. Just in case. 

He fumbled with the cork for Swallow, tossing it aside with the silver sword. He moved his hand up cup the back of Geralt’s head, lifting it a little, helping the witcher take the potion carefully. 

It took a few minutes to get him to take the whole thing, but eventually the witcher’s breathing became stronger, heartbeat a little more prominent. 

Jaskier pressed their foreheads together and wept. 

+++

Dawn arrived with a soft pink-blue hue, bathing the world in a fresh spattering of dew. 

Jaskier was awake, but only barely. 

The body in his arms stirred and Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath, eyes forced open, peering down at the witcher. 

“Geralt?” Urgent, soft. 

“Jask-” Thick, confused, grey brows furrowing. A soft groan ripped from his throat. 

“ _Geralt_.” Jaskier wept again, trembling from pure exhaustion, hunched over the other man. 

A small, distressed noise. 

A hand cupped his cheek, swiping away some of the tears. A sharp intake of breath. 

“You’re injured.” Geralt rumbled, grunting as he pushed himself up, bracing a hand against the ground. 

“Fuck off.” Jaskier croaked. “You almost _died_.” He breathed, and then leaned forward to kiss him desperately. His head dropped to the witcher’s shoulder afterwards, still shaking. 

“Jaskier, what happened--?” 

Jaskier mumbled a soft noise, shuddering once. His mouth opened, closed. He blinked a few times, quickly, trying to right the swaying, blurred world around him.

“Sorry.” He slurred, and promptly passed out. 

+++

Jaskier woke to the ceiling of the inn with a gasp. 

Fear filled every part of him. 

He scrambled out of the bed, crying out incoherently, but his legs didn’t support him. His knees buckled and he hit the floor, hands bracing him as he shook. 

Someone grabbed his shoulders and he shied from them, a weak palm shoving at the chest in front of him. 

He struggled as he was gathered close, until the gravelly voice filtered through the haze of terror. 

“Jaskier, love, Jaskier--” Geralt was crooning, quietly, and Jaskier _sobbed_. 

“Oh, Gods. Oh, _Gods_.” His hands grasped at the black shirt that Geralt wore, fingers tangling in the fabric as he buried his face against his strength. 

“I can’t. I can’t-- we have to go, we have to go _now_ \--” Jaskier babbled, trying to stand again. Geralt’s arms kept him on the floor, drawn into the witcher’s lap. 

“Geralt, _please_ \--”

“ _Jaskier_.” Geralt growled and Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath, ceasing his struggles. 

He wept there, tucked into Geralt’s arms, until the world started to make sense again, the panic receding. He breathed, still. 

Finally - “He’s coming for Ciri.” Voice flat, tear stains streaking down his face.

“Jaskier, sweetheart, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Geralt whispered, a note of _fear_ in his deep voice. His nose brushed against Jaskier’s hair, his temple. 

“Eredin.” Jaskier breathed and Geralt froze, a noise that Jaskier wasn’t sure he’d ever heard ripping from the witcher’s throat unbidden. 

The bruxa’s laugh rung in his mind. 

A deathly echo.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> Come scream at me on tumblr if you'd like - same username xdandelionxbloomx. 
> 
> I appreciate all your support so much, you have no idea <3


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